Faces of Virtue
The Relationship Between Mercy and Justice

by Donald DeMarco

Readers of great literature are familiar with Shakespeare’s remark in The Merchant of Venice about how mercy “seasons” justice and Milton’s comment in Paradise Lost that mercy “tempers” justice. For these great writers, who were also knowledgeable philosophers, it was clear that mercy and justice did not clash with each other, but were truly complementary.

The modern world, which no longer has a coherent view of morality, has challenged the complementarity of mercy and justice. The romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, for example, holds that the distinction between justice and mercy was invented in the court of tyrants. This view suggests that if justice and mercy are distinct, they cannot be conjoined.

The surprising success of William Bennett’s The Book of Virtues prompted Newsweek to do a cover feature on the topic. Some of the writers cited in the article maintained that if virtue is still alive, it is simply a form of narcissistic self-fulfillment. In fact, Alasdair MacIntyre’s book, After Virtue, offers plenty of evidence that we are now living in a “post-virtue” society.

Though hardly a reliable authority on the subject of virtue—“You can’t lose it,” its writer claims—Newsweek saw serious problems with virtue itself: “Sometimes virtues clash, as justice and compassion often do.”

The great traditional moralists, including St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, taught that all true virtues are rooted in love. In other words, “love is the form of all virtues.” Therefore, since virtue springs from a common and unified basis, virtues cannot clash with each other, any more than love can contradict itself.

Perhaps the clearest and at the same time most dramatic treatment of how mercy and justice do not clash, but complement each other, is found in a play that is not widely known—Prince Frederick of Hamburg by Heinrich von Kleist.

The philosophical basis for the play is exemplified by the moral spirit of King Frederick William I (1688–1740). This German king once visited a prison where he listened intently to a number of pleas for pardon from prisoners who claimed to be victims of injustice. All swore they had suffered imprisonment on account of prejudiced judges, perjured witnesses, and unscrupulous lawyers. From cell to cell, allegations of wronged innocence and false imprisonment continued until the king came to the door of a cell occupied by a surly inmate who said nothing.

Surprised at his silence, Frederick remarked, somewhat sarcastically, “Well I suppose you are innocent too.” “No, your Majesty,” came the startling response. “I am guilty and richly deserve all that I get.” “Here, turnkey,” thundered Frederick, “come and get rid of this rascal quick, before he corrupts this fine lot of innocent people that you are responsible for.”

In Kleist’s play, the prince, son of Frederick William, the Elector of Brandenburg, disgraces himself in battle. He is subsequently tried and condemned to die by a court martial. The elector, as one can readily understand, wants to offer mercy to his son and thereby save his life. But he cannot dispense mercy to an unrepentant criminal. Nathalie, who is in love with the prince, intercedes on his behalf. Yet the elector is unwavering—mercy cannot negate justice.

Finally, the son comes to acknowledge the gravity of his crime and the validity of his sentence:

. . . now that I have thought it over,
I wish to die the death decreed for me!
. . . It is my absolute desire
To glorify the sacred code of battle,
Broken by me before the entire army,
With voluntary death.

Now that the prince is willing to accept justice, he is eligible for mercy. When the elector hears these courageous words, he is overjoyed. He tears up the death sentence, pardons his son, and grants him permission to marry Nathalie. The prince is thereby restored to life, honor, and happiness. On this joyful note, the play ends.

Mercy must honor justice. It can be dispensed rightly only when the validity of justice is acknowledged. Similarly, forgiveness can be granted only when a transgression is acknowledged.

Mercy “does not destroy justice,” as Aquinas noted, “but is a certain kind of fulfillment of justice.” “Mercy without justice, he added, “is the mother of dissolution.”

Mercy lacks the heroic quality associated with virtues such as courage and determination. It does not possess the primacy enjoyed by reverence and humility. Nor does it have the independent character of generosity and integrity. It is a complementary virtue, one that is destined to share the spotlight with a more fundamental good.

The nineteenth-century American clergyman Edwin Hubbell Chapin expressed it most eloquently when he wrote, “Mercy among the virtues is like the moon among the stars—not so sparkling and vivid as many, but dispensing a calm radiance that hallows the whole. It is the bow that rests upon the bosom of the cloud when the storm is past. It is the light that hovers above the judgment-seat.”

Donald DeMarco is professor emeritus of philosophy at St. Jerome’s University in Waterloo, Ontario. He also teaches at Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell, Connecticut, and continues to work as a corresponding member of the Pontifical Academy for Life.

His book Architects of the Culture of Death was released in April of 2004. He is also the author of The Many Faces of Virtue, which is a collection of favorite Lay Witness columns.

To order The Many Faces of Virtue, visit Emmaus Road Publishing online at www.emmausroad.org.

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